He was sixteen. He was afraid, filled with fear. He didn't know how to manage anything financially. The family money was dwindling, being sucked dry by the Dark Lord. This wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't know how to politically communicate with his father's colleagues, let alone calling in the debts owed to his family. His father was the one who handled everything. Unfortunately, his father was in prison (Azkaban) and his mother was practically a prisoner in her own home. The Dark Lord tasked him with killing Dumbledore but he knew he was likely to fail. And get killed. His mother would get killed too. It was all up to him and he was faltering.
Falling.
He breathed deeply. There must be a way. He has to succeed. Failure was not an option. Anxiety-filled thoughts tried to trap him again. He shoved them away. He cannot be distracted now. He has to focus. Focus. His life depended on it. So did his mother's.
Oh, who was he kidding?
What was he going to do!?
Something shimmered.
What is that?
He walked up to it. It glowed brighter. He tried to step back but he found that he could not. He was paralyzed. He could not even let out a scream as the light engulfed him.